Return
by Galaxi
Summary: Jacob realizes that things change over time. He gets that, he really does. But some things never fail to surprise him. -- Multiple part fic. During/post Breaking Dawn. Angst.
1. Part I

**Summary: **Bella changes some things. Maybe for the better, maybe not. But more importantly, she realizes there's no living "happily ever after" when you can't even _live_. And she realizes there's a time when it's too late to change the things that matter most.

**A/N:** Takes place during/post Breaking Dawn; heavy on the angst; inspired by the song "Return" by OK Go.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the OK Go song "Return", nor any of these characters owned by Stephenie Meyer, etc., etc....

**---**

**Return: Part I**

The first time he sees her, he dies. And the second time is similar. The third time is not as bad. _Not as bad_, he thinks, _but bad enough_.

But the _first_ time he sees her, redness blinds his eyes. Bile rises to his throat. Tremors shake his body like he's a human earthquake. He feels like he'd just been punched in the gut—well, no, that's not exactly a good comparison. (He wouldn't have been hurt in that case.) No, he feels more like he'd just been run over by a semi-truck. Like a knife had been repeatedly stabbed through his heart. Like someone had taken anything and everything that ever existed or mattered in his life and flushed it down a toilet, never to return.

He excuses himself from the room, calmly, collectively, under control. He even manages to stop shaking for her sake, no one else's, of course. Several pairs of eyes follow him, he knows that; but he can only actually _feel _one of them burning a hole through his back with a liquid, blood-red stare. Those pair of eyes were the only ones that mattered—the only ones that would ever matter—the only ones he kept himself _alive_ for. And now they belonged to a monster.

When the door closes behind him and he's alone with himself on the outside, not five seconds pass before he's vomiting his entire stomach into a nearby bush (which, ever so conveniently, happened to be stationed right outside the Cullen's lair). _Stupid fuckers, _he thinks, oddly smug, as he continues to puke.

The retching doesn't stop, nor does the pain. Moments pass and he finds himself finally dry-heaving, having nothing left in his stomach to get rid of. And the only thought that comes to mind as he catches a glimpse of his guts on the Cullen's yard is not irrational—_definitely not!_—so he doesn't feel guilty in the slightest bit as his mind screams yet again in the strangest, smuggest way, _Fuckers _deserve_ it, damnit!_

It shakes his body in an awfully painful way, shakes his body _so_ hard, he's sure he could literally fall to pieces any moment.

But he doesn't fall to pieces, not literally, and the next second he has four legs and is running umpteen miles per hour through the forest, not seeing anything and not _wanting_ to ever see anything.

A few miles away, he regrets running in the first place. (He slows.) Why hadn't he beaten the shit out of Cullen right there on the spot? Honestly, was the _matter_ with him? Was he a coward?

Jacob Black was many things, but he wasn't a coward; right now just wasn't the right time, he decides. He'd get back to beating the shit out of Cullen later, once he collected himself and had calmed down enough to form coherent thoughts.

But what if coherent thoughts wouldn't do any good? What if he realized he probably shouldn't kill Edward if he was thinking properly? He didn't like the sound of that. He _really _wantedto kill Edward, wanted to kill him _so_ fucking badly, so maybe he wouldn't have a chance later, so he considers turning around—but he doesn't turn around.

He realizes Bella will be hurt—_more _than hurt. But, geez; was he feeling guilty about feeding her a bit of her own medicine? He wasn't willing to just let things slide that made him feel the way he did just now. _Definitely_ not. (All these thoughts about Bella were irrational, of course, but he wasn't willing to admit that.)

But the fact that he could never hate Bella no matter what she did makes him stop running right then and there. That fact was so painfully true, and he didn't know why. He had plenty of reasons to hate her. _So_ many reasons. He realizes that he probably _should_ hate her, a whole lot, in fact. But he doesn't hate her.

_Geez, Jake_, Embry's voice enters his thoughts. _Calm down, will you? It's not the end of the entire world._

_It might as well be_, Jacob hisses back. _Now fuck off._

_Tsk, tsk, _Embry laughs. Completely playfully. It angers Jacob to no end. _You know Sam's 'rule'—no excessive cussing in your thoughts._

Jacob shakes his wolf head back and forth, head throbbing._ And what if I don't give a fuck about what Sam's stupid 'rule'?_

He sees Embry shrugging._ Well, don't come whining to me when Sam lectures you on being all considerate and shit. I'm out._

And with that, Embry disappears from Jacob's head. No one else is there, strangely. Sam was supposed to be on patrol—wasn'the? Or perhaps Jacob had just lost track of time and was being completely idiotic.

A few moments pass as he stands there, in his wolf form and all, staring morosely at the half-moon. It's waning, he realizes, and he didn't usually take symbolism seriously, but the comparison of the moon to his life was really starting to freak him out.

_Story of my fucking life,_ he thinks, and amazingly gathers enough will power to become human.

As soon as he sees his hands right where they're supposed to be (and feels the animal slowly ebb away, for now, to somewhere deep in his chest), he curls up on the frosty ground, crying and naked and cold and completely unconcealed in the middle of a clearing in the forest.

She doesn't try to find or follow him, and for this he is grateful.

---

Time passes. Not _much_ time, but time all the same.

He tries to see her again, and then thinks better of it when he catches only a glimpse of her white skin through the un-curtained window of the white house she resides in by the river. The previous events of just a few months ago basically repeat themselves, only this time, he keeps on running, running, running—all the way to Southern Mexico, where he stays, only barely surviving. Insanity begins to creep into his mind. Thinking about anything at all makes absolutely no sense anymore, because what the hell's the point?

He makes no more attempts to see her again for a few years. But that doesn't keep away the image of her perfectly chiseled face, the only memory he has of her now, because everything else is gone. That image is burned right into his mind and the insides of his eyelids and within every bit of his peripheral and non-peripheral vision, with every single inch of her impossibly gorgeous face there and layered in excessive detail. So every time he closes his eyes, she's there. And every time he opens his eyes, she's there. And this isn't a _good_ thing, not now, not like it used to be.

But he can't see anything else—he doesn't remember what she used to be like. Maybe, he supposes, that's because she's already thrown away anything and everything that ever mattered—anything that still matters (even if not to her). So he knows her only as being a monster, and nothing else. And he thinks _so _hard, hard enough to make his head throb with pain, but no matter how hard he tries to remember her real face (the one he _knows_ used to be real), he can't think of it. And he can't think of anything else but the dangerous mask she now wears.

He's perfectly lonely, and she still doesn't try to find or follow him. And for this he is _so _enormously grateful.

---

"So, I know we've known each other for a while now," his girlfriend mumbles, "and I've really, really liked knowing you, Jacob, and we've had bunches and bunches of fun together and you're really,_ really_ hot" —at this, she giggles, while Jacob internally rolls his eyes— "and I definitely, you know, like you and stuff. But…"

This is the moment he'd been waiting for, for… how long had it been? Probably ever since the first month he'd known her. Erin was pretty great, sure, but she wasn't a goddess, either (_unlike someone…_, he can't help but think).

"…but, Jacob!" Erin continues, completely bubbly and apologetic at the same time. "I just think that… well, I guess what I'm trying to say is... Maybe it's time to… I dunno, like, see different people…? Maybe? Uh… yeah." Erin shrugs and looks adorable, just like how she did when he first met her. But no amount of adorableness could ruin this moment for him.

His response is very distinct and much too quick.

"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea!" he bursts, grinning weakly. Erin glares, suspicious. "I mean, well… if you think so." He erases the stupid smile on his face and pretends to look a bit disappointed.

She's not so observant, so she doesn't notice the unmistakable excitement and joy behind his fake grimace. "Great! That went smoothly. Then, well, I guess this is goodbye." She shrugs again, hugs him, says goodbye once more, walks away without a backwards glance, and starts flirting with the next hot guy that comes within range of sight.

Jacob really doesn't care much. He's not hurt, not regretful in any way. He doesn't get an unquenchable desire to run and hold her in his arms again, nor does he wish that he had gotten to know her better. He's quite glad he hadn't, actually.

What he feels at that moment is hard to describe, and he doesn't try to describe it. Well, it's not exactly happiness, and it's not excitement like his physical appearance might have suggested. Even as he smiles to himself as he watches Erin disappear around a corner to inevitably stay out of his life forever, he doesn't feel _joy_. Perhaps he was grateful he had one less thing to worry about—a girlfriend included.

Or, maybe, just _maybe_, he was happier for the girl than he was for himself. It may be that he was glad she didn't need to deal with him anymore. _That _was definitely a good thing.

But that's it. Another stupid, fucked up, miserable episode of his life—now over.

_So what could possibly be next in line?_, he thinks, not needing to fake a grimace this time.

---

The next time, somehow ironically, is at a party. A. Fucking. _Party_.

Why the hell did his life make no sense whatsoever?

He tries not to dwell too much on that, though. What he thinks about is how he was here only to keep an eye on Seth (and a few of his high school buddies), who still had an unreasonable and unexplainable attraction the Cullens. So, Jacob doesn't get why Seth wanted to go to a damn party hosted by the Cullens in the first place, because there's really no way to describe his hate for them (well, all but one of them, of course).

Jacob doesn't really question anything the little dude says, only insults him. So he wants to go to a bloodsucking party? Fine. So be it. _Just please don't have one of them bitches ask me to dance_ is all he really prays for. Other than that, he doesn't care so much that the lights are flashing crazily and the music is way too loud, way too techno. He doesn't even care that Seth and his whole group is enjoying themselves—that _everyone_ there is. He doesn't get upset about the fact that none of the silly humans there know what the hell the Cullens _really_ are. He seriously, honestly and truthfully, does _not _care.

"Oh, God," he mutters again under his breath, under the loud roar of the music overhead. "Don't let one of those bitches ask me to dance."

Rosalie gives Jacob sarcastic sex eyes from across the room, with eyebrows raised suggestively. He tastes vomit in his mouth.

Thankfully, one of Seth's friends named Michael comes over to distract him from the hideous sight.

"Hey," Michael laughs, breathlessly, reaching for a cup on the table behind Jacob and overflows it with cherry punch. Jacob tries to remember that none of the friends Seth brought with him tonight are werewolves. They're just so… so _scrawny_. He can't say he's gotten used to being around Quileute boys that weren't absolute beasts.

"Name's Jacob, right?" Michael continues, sounding drunk although there isn't any of that stuff at the Cullens' place. Jacob assumes vampires can't get drunk, so what use had they for alcohol?

"Yeah," you reply, nonchalant, indifferent. "And your name's Michael."

"Yup," the boy hiccups. "Man, this party is _hot_. And that includes the girls…" He looks around, catching the eye of an especially cute girl and winks at her. The girl giggles and Michael takes another gulp from his plastic Dixie cup of cherry punch.

Of course, there are more than a few girls present at the party. It's as though the Cullens invited every damn person within twenty miles of this place. How in the hell did they stand to have so many humans in their house at the same time? What crazy reason had they for throwing a party and inviting a bunch of smelly teenagers, anyway? They just didn't make sense half the time. (And that definitely included every single one of them.)

"Ha," Jacob laughs once without humor. "Go make a move on one of 'em, then. _That _one was pretty cute." His voice is bored, kind of like an _I-really-don't-give-a-fuck-about-your-love-life_ type of tone. Jacob rolls his eyes when the boy's not looking.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Michael ignorantly asks, disregarding what Jacob had just said as though he hadn't just said it. "I mean, you're just standing here looking bored. _You're_ not making a move on a girl. And you look kinda old to be at a party like this, anyway. So what are you here for?"

"Seth invited me," he says, and it isn't exactly a lie. Seth _had _chosen Jacob to take along to the bloodsucking party. It all amounted up to the same thing in Jacob's mind. "So I just tagged along. And the Cullens are kind of old friends of mine." Now _that_ was definitely a lie.

"Ah," Michael says, nodding his head, not questioning the topic any further. A silence passes between the two of them (well, excluding the blasting music overhead) while Michael chugs down the rest of his punch and pours in some more.

"Holy _shit_!" Michael shouts very suddenly and excitedly, causing the drink to spurt from his mouth and down his chin and onto the perfectly clean, tiled floor of what Jacob thought of as 'The Fucking Ballroom, For God's Sake'. "Would you just take a look at _her_!" He points a shaking finger in the opposite direction of where Jacob is facing.

So Jacob turns around to take a look at her, even though he already knows who he's going to see. Who else could cause such a strong reaction from a fifteen-year-old hormonal boy?

She's stunningly gorgeous, of course. The shining, unnatural colored lights from above make a strange effect on her snow-white skin. She's sitting with her knees tucked up to her chest in a couch on the other side of the room, a part of the room where very few people occupy. Surprisingly, she wears nothing special, nothing flashy or fancy like the other bloodsuckers in the room. A pair of sweats and a big T-shirt. That's it. And it is wonderful.

Edward Cullen sits by her side. He holds her delicate little hand, rubbing over it again and again with his thumb in a way that was probably meant to be comforting. Bella looks anything but comforted.

Her expression is frightened. Scared. Sad. To all other eyes, it probably made her look sexier, and that's probably the expression that caught Michael's eye. But to Jacob (_Jacob_, who could see right through any and all façades Bella had ever had and ever would have), that look on her beautiful face shot a pang of sorrow through his heart. His body threatens to yet again repeat what had happened the first and second times he'd seen her this way. He manages to control himself, though, despite the dark topaz eyes that stare right through his soul.

And that's when Jacob realizes that she's looking at him. Intensely so. It changes when Jacob stares right back her, completely captivated and mesmerized by the overwhelming and sheer beauty presented before him. Her eyes squint up the slightest bit; her mouth parts in a way that is hardly noticeable. Her eyebrows rise just a little bit and her hand, the one that is held in Edward's, begins to tremble. Edward's mouth moves, murmuring words much too quiet to hear from where Jacob stands, and his lips press against Bella's temple.

She flinches.

She then finally looks away from Jacob and devotes all her attention to the leech at her side.

The encounter—if you could actually call it an _encounter_—was short, probably only a few seconds, but in that short time, Jacob sees something that he never thought he could believe ever again; Bella's life wasn't really all just about Edward, was it? The way she reacted to his touch obviously showed that.

Michael interrupts this revelation much too early.

"Holy shit," he repeats, suddenly sounding beat. "Did you _see_ that? She was _totally_ giving you sex eyes, man! You know her?"

Jacob manages to wrench his eyes from Bella to look at Michael, an irrational feeling of anger taking over his entire body. Hell, it wasn't the kid's fault he had absolutely no clue about Jacob's situation!

"Yes," he replies stiffly. "I know her." It was the largest understatement of the century.

"_Dude_," Michael continues to swoon. "How _much_ do you know her?" There's a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I know her enough," Jacob spits, looking down at his feet.

"And how much is that?" The kid just doesn't know when to leave something alone, does he?

"More than I know myself," he says, "which, by the way, is not too much. I don't think I know her anymore, though." His eyes squint together at this terrifying possibility.

Michael chuckles. "Guess you've done it, then," he says before taking another huge gulp from his cup.

"_Done it_?" Jacob hisses dangerously.

"Sure," he replies, shrugging. "You know, _done_ it. Please don't tell me you're probably ten years older than me and don't even know what _doing it_ means." He rolls his eyes.

Little did Michael know that Jacob was probably about only one year older than him—only sixteen, in fact. Sometimes even Jacob didn't get how he could be so young, yet so incredibly old at the same time. He decides that mental age definitely mattered more than physical, even if he did look roughly twenty-five to all other eyes.

"I know what it _means_," Jacob whispers loudly, his voice seething with annoyance. "And no. We are not _doing_ it. Go mind your own fucking business." The last part is said a bit quieter so that Michael wouldn't be offended.

"Fine, fine," the boy says, tossing his cup in a nearby trash can and simply walking away.

"Annoying kid," Jacob mutters under his breath, going back to looking at his feet like he'd been doing before Michael had shown up.

Minutes pass and he realizes he can't take it anymore. He carefully picks out Seth in the midst of all the sweaty, dancing teenagers, and vehemently whispers in his ear, "I'm leaving now. You can take care of yourself, can't you?"

Not waiting for an answer, Jacob whips around and heads toward the door. Thinking twice before exiting, he makes his way back toward the refreshment stand placed against the wall where he had stood the past two hours.

Doing it quickly so he doesn't have time to change his mind or realize he is being completely immature and stupid, Jacob spits a large wad into the nearly half-full bowl of fruit punch. He stirs the newly-contaminated liquid with the tip of his finger for thoroughness and dries it by hastily rubbing his hand on his jeans. Not giving what he'd just done more than a second look (and not looking towards the couch in the corner of the room, either), he flips around on his heels to leave.

Then he literally bolts out the door and away from the crypt of hell behind him.

---

Jacob realizes that things change over time. He gets that, he really does. But some things never fail to surprise him.

Rosalie saw what he'd done at the stupid party, and made sure that his "stupidity had no effect on the stupid humans" by dumping out the bowl of punch containing Jacob's spit and quickly replacing it with a better beverage than there'd been before.

How does he know all of this took place? Well, quite literally, Rosalie had stalked him down to take him on guilt trip of "spiking the punch", which had not taken a toll on Jacob's conscience. He couldn't care less who had drunk his spit—that was the point he'd done it in the first place, but it apparently had not worked.

She encounters him in the forest one night. All a planned visit, of course.

"I just think that, for someone so _old_, you'd at least have the sense to act your age at a teenage party," Rosalie sneers with distaste. "Honestly, Jacob? Spitting in the punch? Geez, I sure haven't heard of _that _one before." Her voice is layered thick with sarcasm and haughtiness. She rolls her eyes.

"Why the hell does everyone think I'm so _old_?" Jacob yells, disregarding her lecture. "I'm fucking _sixteen_, for crying out loud!"

Rosalie's sneer grows wider, if possible. "That's just what _you_ think. Have you looked in a mirror lately? When was the last time you celebrated your birthday? And why in the hell do all you _mutts_ think you never grow a day older? Because that's not exactly what I've seen over the past few years, observing you."

Jacob grimaces. "First of all, don't mention _observing me_ ever again or I am quite liable to barf in your bitchy face. Secondly, I suggest you wait a few more decades, and then you'll see what we mean when we say we don't get any older."

Now Rosalie frowns. Jacob feels proud as he realizes he struck a nerve. She leans in dangerously close to his face, only a few inches away, and her voice grows deadly. And he just smiles wide, standing his ground. "You don't know who you're dealing with, _dog_. I suggest you take that stupid smile off your face or I'll slap it off. And by slap it off, I mean I may accidentally remove your head in the process." She smiles innocently. Jacob mimics it.

"Nice to know," he replies simply. "Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd step away now." He grabs a hold of his nose in exaggeration and pretends to gag on the stench. (Maybe he wasn't pretending. She _did_ smell pretty damn bad.)

Rosalie gives Jacob one more killing look and leans away. "Don't threaten me, Jacob Black." She flashes an impossibly perfect white smile, showing all of her pretty-fucking-white teeth, and dashes away the same way she'd come, quickly disappearing within the shadows of the trees. Like a ghost. And when she's gone, Jacob's smile disappears. He's alone—again. He'd rather grace the presence of a snobby bloodsucker than be the only one residing with himself.

"Bitch," Jacob mutters at Rosalie's departure, more out of habit than sincerity. He sighs, and then regains his wolf form more easily than he'd been able to in a long time.

---

She comes looking for him, finally.

Of course, being a vampire and all, Bella was susceptible to _amazing _senses—and, included in that, the ability to track down Jacob with her nose from more than twenty miles away. And that's just what she does, when the guilt finally overwhelms her.

She'd already heard of his move to Tacoma, and she understands exactly why. It was far enough away to not be tortured by the proximity they had to each other, and close enough so that he could get to her without going very far, or perhaps it was reciprocated—because, in this case (while Bella forlornly drives toward her destination), it definitely was. She was the one who needed to see Jacob now, not the other way around. (Although she couldn't be sure how Jacob felt about her now.)

The reason she was driving rather than just running was not something she liked to think about. Because, if she was being honest with herself, running at an average of sixty miles per hour when she probably would have been running at an average of ten did no good to her mental stability. Especially due to the fact that the word "if" and the phrase "would have" had become her largest enemies. Thus, Bella doesn't like running too much. Or walking, for that matter. Hell, Bella doesn't like to do anything that could quite possibly cause someone pain—because, lately, that's all she does—hurt people. There was nothing else anymore, and nowhere she could go to escape the guilt. Or at least she believed so. But that's why she was on this trip in the first place—to try and find some piece of mind, to try and fine just one person that could accept her no matter how awful she was, and prove her wrong.

But what if Jacob _doesn't_ accept her? How can she possibly live with herself if she knows that the one person she thought she could always depend on was no longer there for her? What if being killed by a monster—and no less, her best friend—suddenly seems like a very appealing idea, if she has no one and nothing else left to live for?

Bella tries to push all of these negative thoughts to the back of her mind, but it's difficult, now that her mind is able to think of all sorts of things at the same time. _It's like a curse_, she thinks. _An inescapable curse…_

Although she her dislike to go at fast speeds was still quite prominent, Edward would not let her escape home without a ridiculously fancy version of a car—and was he was still reluctant about her escaping otherwise—which she still thought was completely and totally unnecessary. Right now, she drove a sleek and white Audi R8, with so many shiny and flashy features she thought she'd never use. There was never a time when she missed her red Chevy truck more than she did now.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Her golden eyes are piercing, a not-so-nice-touch to her already exquisite features. Bella hardly ever wears makeup (and still doesn't), but it very much looks like she does. _Natural makeup_, she thinks, _that is definitely very unnatural_.

Everyone else probably saw her as amazingly, inhumanly beautiful—the very same way she still sees all the other Cullens. And her outward features were _extremely_ beautiful; that much she would not deny. Her insides, of course, were another story. But the only word that comes to mind every time she sees herself is _unnatural_. And it's _all_ unnatural; every single thing about her is. So she quickly looks away from her reflection.

Around this time, Bella had already passed Port Angeles about an hour prior to where she was now and would near Tacoma in about another forty-five minutes. While she refused to go over the speed limit, at the same time she was more than a little bit anxious to reach her destination. But what would she do when she gets there? Will she need to start a conversation, or would Jacob do that…?

If breathing were vital in her case, she would have passed out that very second from lack of air. But she _doesn't_ need to breathe, so (unfortunately) she doesn't pass out.

Only thirty minutes away now, and way too much on her mind, Bella decides to take a desperate measure and turn the radio on. A few channel switches to avoid the static, and now a song is blaring from the dashboard.

It seems wonderful at first, the song—there's heavy use of drums and what Bella classifies as screaming guitars. There's a bouncy, happy air to it. In all, it's easy for Bella to focus on the song rather than anything buzzing around in her head at the moment. And while it's loud (especially with the volume dial turned all the way clockwise), it still pacifies Bella.

Until the singing begins.

It's not that the singer has a bad voice, because he definitely doesn't—no, it's the lyrics Bella hears that cause her to cringe. She refuses to even comprehend what she hears until the second verse.

_For a while, with the vertigo cured, we were alive—we were pure.__  
__The void took the shape of all that you were, but years take their toll,__  
__and things get bent into shape...__  
__Antiseptic and tired, I can't remember your face.  
Return._

The last word repeats several times, each time a stab to Bella's non-beating heart.

_Return. Return. Return._

Bella hadn't returned. But now she is—the song couldn't blame her for that. She_ is_ returning, returning back to whom she knew she could trust with all her heart; she is returning to the one person who_ needed_ her to.

But Bella is frozen in her seat, and she can't reach over to the radio to turn it off. The song continues, and this time around, it's worse, even if Bella tries to convince herself that it's all just a coincidence.

_You were supposed to grow old. You were supposed to grow old.__  
__Reckless, unfrightened and old, you were supposed to grow old._

And it's him. It's all from his heart. It's Jacob yelling the words in her face, accusing her with everything he had. The worse part was that she couldn't deny any of it. She'd let him down; she'd betrayed him; she hadn't grown old, and still wasn't. And that was something she could never, ever take back.

And the song continues.

_Return. You were supposed to re—_

"Enough!" Bella screams at the radio, promptly pulling back her hand and thrusting it forward into the dashboard almost as hard as she can. The song abruptly cuts off, with a sound of electrical wires under pressure and sparks in its place. A large hole is present in the center of the radio, looking dangerously close to a perfect circle going almost all the way through the car. The car still drives, though, but Bella turns onto the side of the road anyway. A few cars behind her honk at her sudden change in direction, and she receives a few fingers as they drive past her, annoyed. But she doesn't care.

Once the engine is cut and she's sure she's not in the way of hurting anybody with her hazardous driving, Bella leans on the steering wheel and begins to cry. She cries strangely like—well, like a vampire. No tears come out of her tear ducts. She feels no moisture fall onto her lap as she would have, if she were physically able to produce tears. But she's not, so the only thing she can do to cry is let the strange sobs shake her body, her every nerve, and it gets more and more painful with each passing second.

She finally gathers the strength to stop, just stop, because there's no use in crying when you can't even cry.

Only a few more seconds later, and she's on the road again. And this time, she doesn't turn on the radio (it's broken), and she doesn't try to _not_ think dreadful thoughts (it's impossible not to).

And only a few minutes later, she sees the green road sign she hadn't expected so soon—"Tacoma, 1 mile", it reads.

_What the hell_, Bella decides, and pushes down the gas to go just over ninety.

---

Merry/Happy Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza! (Yes, I know it's late.)  
Expect part two (of probably three or four) very soon.


	2. Part II

**Return: Part II**

It isn't that hard to find him.

Bella never really liked admitting that she was accustomed to Jacob's scent, his heartbeat, his atmosphere, and _him_ in general.... She brought that fact up once around Edward, and was very careful to not do_ that_ ever again.

But it was at this exact point in time where being able to literally _sniff _Jacob out is especially useful, if but a little creepy, even to her. She couldn't deny that this specific power left her shamefaced most of the time—and, to be honest, it almost freaked her out. Made her feel guilty. Well, not that she cares, not now. She came here to find—not to mention, _talk_ to—Jacob, and _damnit_, she was going to do just that, using whatever strategies it took. Compared to all the other options that were available in finding him (which she tries not to think about and thus has no other options), finding his scent trail seemed significantly innocent.

His apartment building is tucked away in a small, comparatively not-so-busy part of town, where there is few traffic and even fewer buildings. So it's definitely not that hard to find him, especially since his scent is no more than a few hours old on the steps leading up to his apartment.

It's dark outside, of course—well, around late evening—and Bella made sure of this. She'd had to leave not too late so that Jacob might be asleep, but she couldn't let anyone see the effect the sun had on her skin, either. So it's a perfect time. Bella had to only hope that it was the same for Jacob.

Once again, just like before, her fears consume her. What will she do if (or when) Jacob doesn't accept her? She has no backup plan. She isn't planning on going back to Edward like the upset, broken wreck she would inevitably become if Jacob were not willing to help her, to begin _healing_ her. Again.

She hesitates a few seconds before lightly tapping twice on the door she knew he'd reside behind. She braces herself for yelling, for crying, for accusations, for anything that would make her regret coming here. She was ready for Jacob's torment and would take it no matter how painful it would ultimately become.

Behind the door, she hears the creaks of springs from a bed as its occupant removed himself. She hears annoyed, tired-sounding groans in the voice of a male, and the sound of a stack of papers dropping to the floor—an accident, most likely. She hears him picking the papers up and hastily throwing them on a chair. Bella flinches as she realizes that Jacob, in fact, _had_ been sleeping. She hopes he'd be a moderately good mood (as if that was possible, anyway). It couldn't be later than seven… what was he sleeping for?

She also hears his heartbeat—his precious, infinitely important _heartbeat_. Just the sound of it was enough to soothe her nerves, enough to forget about how much her little visit might affect Jacob. Because, no matter what she did, there could always still be _that_—the sound of Jacob's beating heart. She could live through all hell as long as she could be sure that Jacob was_ alive_. So no matter what she did, she wouldn't need to worry about literally making that heart _stop_… because that… was something she would not let herself think about.

And then she hears the sound of footsteps across an old, hollow floor. Jacob usually wasn't one to make those sorts of sounds, but this was an ancient apartment, and was bound to have weak and creaky floorboards, if nothing else.

She then hears a very small gasp, and the sound of a nose inhaling, all mixed together with the abrupt sound of Jacob stopping where he stood and not walking any further… as well as the speeding up of his heart that rang out above all the other noises.

Then silence. (Save for his nervous heartbeats, of course.)

_Oh, shit_, Bella frantically thinks. Oh_, shit, shit, shit… he smells me only as a vampire!_

There's a part of her mind—a very small part, yet getting truer and more dominate with each day—that whispers accusingly: _You_ are _a vampire. What else could you expect? It's all your fault_.

_But it's not!_ An irrational part of Bella's mind thinks. _If I were a vampire here to kill him, doesn't he know I wouldn't come politely knocking on his door? It's not my fault that he's not thinking properly…_

Frustrated, Bella knocks once more, a bit louder and more persistent this time. "Jacob?" she reluctantly calls, trying to tone down the tinkling sounds of her angelic voice just a notch. Having a conversation through the door was the last thing she wanted. "It—it's just me."

The door very suddenly swings open then, and a small gale of wind blows Bella's hair out of her face (she hadn't realized it was actually _in_ her face before) and makes her gasp, an incredibly tiny sound. She hadn't heard him walk towards the door, even with her superhuman ears. She is able to make out every detail of his shape, even in the continually dimming light of late afternoon.

"I know," Jacob says indifferently. "Who else could it be?"

Bella flinches.

"You look… different," Bella finally says, supplying an innocent topic of conversation. "Well, you're the _same_, but different." She smiles a tiny smile, hoping he understood. Well, of course he does.

He shrugs. "I cut my hair," he says candidly, in the same tone.

Bella simply nods. What else was there to say in that immediate moment?

Jacob speaks up again. "I only did it because you weren't here, and I thought—" His voice suddenly cuts off.

Bella's smile slowly fades.

She thinks of a time, centuries ago (or it sure seems like it), when the vague remembrance of being stalked down by an army of immortal beings and having been trapped in a snow storm now haunts her. She recalls the ferocious gales of wind that had beaten and thrashed upon the small tent, in which held a dangerous combination of three individuals—a vampire, a werewolf, and a human… a human she once was, but never again would be. A human, whose past would always haunt Bella; whose past was no longer hers, and could never be recalled again as being hers. But that's not what Bella thinks about, as Jacob stares uncomfortably down at the space between him and her, which was space enough so that it left them _both_ uncomfortable.

No, Bella doesn't think of that at all. Instead, she remembers the time, when both the werewolf and the human had been in the same sleeping bag throughout this hellacious snow storm, in order to bring a bit of warmth to the pale, pathetic and dependent human. She remembers the words that were quietly spoken to mix with the cold and ghostly breeze—

_Jake?_ _Can I ask you something?_ The human—now a foreign resemblance of herself—had whispered these words sleepily. _I'm not trying to be a jerk or anything, I'm honestly curious…_

_Sure_, the werewolf—Jacob—had replied with a chuckle.

_Why are you so much furrier than your friends?_ she'd said. _You don't have to answer if I'm being rude._

_Because my hair is longer, _Jacob had said unhesitatingly, not offended in the least bit_._

That had surprised the human, Bella remembers, although it had made sense. It had prompted her next question: _Then why don't you cut it? Do you like to be shaggy?_

Jacob had been reluctant to answer this question, or maybe it was more of something like embarrassment which had held him back. He'd answered anyway, though, in order to take the opportunity away from the vampire, who had sat close by.

_I was growing my hair out because… it seemed like you liked it better long,_ Jacob had said.

Jacob now breathes out an enormous breath of air that Bella hadn't realized he'd been holding, as closely attuned as she thought she was to his breathing. She supposes she was too absorbed in the unpleasant memory to notice much, even being a vampire.

He blinks several times, looks dizzily over Bella's figure, and breaks the tense silence between them by quietly speaking—or well, finishing his last sentence.

"…And I thought there was no need to be… inconvenienced."

Bella nods quickly, much quicker than necessary. "Right," she says. "Of course."

Jacob looks ridiculously uncomfortable, obviously remembering the same night Bella remembered—the night which was no more, and shouldn't mean anything yet still did, above all reason.

His voice quietly—finally—breaks through the silence of the night.

"Come on," he says, voice cracking, as he turns to enter through his apartment door again. Bella follows warily.

As soon as she's in, Jacob turns to silently close the door behind them, then offers his hand out for her jacket. She hands it over as she appraises the room with her critical eyes, while Jacob hangs her jacket up on a nearby hook in the wall. He clears dirty clothes, papers and garbage off of a wooden coffee table and small loveseat in the center of the room. It's all, of course, very filthy, but Bella doesn't worry herself with that. She couldn't care less about Jacob's habits, hygienically, that is.

"I wish I could see you blush," he says, facing away from her as he does a quick tidying up of his room. "That way, I'd get the idea that you were here to corrupt my youthful innocence, or something like that. I mean, not that you _need_ to—I've already taken care of that—but, still. I miss your blush."

Bella bites her lip. As harmless as the words he spoke were, she hadn't wanted him to bring up things that were already long gone. She doesn't know what to say. She picks out the much less sensitive thing he spoke of.

"So, you've already ridded yourself of youthful innocence?" She grins slightly. "That's good. Gives me one more thing to take off of my 'Things to Do' list."

Jacob laughs. He actually _laughs_—and it immediately brightens up the room; it disintegrates the previous tension.

"Wow. _Corrupt_ _Jacob's Youthful Innocence_," he says, turning to face her with an enormous smile. The quotation marks are apparent in his tone. "I'd love to see that handwritten down on a piece of paper titled _Bella's Things to Do List_." He laughs again, and so does Bella.

He laughs, she laughs; they do the same thing together, the way Bella realizes it should always be… should have always been.

"Yeah," Jacob continues. Although he faces away from her again to throw some dirty dishes into a sink, she can hear the smile in his voice, and she loves that she can still do that to him. She could listen to him speak with that tone of voice for the rest of her life—forever—which ever came first. "In fact, it was taken care of a _long_ time ago—"

"Do you mind telling me what _corrupting your innocence_ implies?" she cuts him off, feigning politeness. She smiles welcomingly.

Jacob turns to face her again, chuckling as he walks to lean forward on the back of a chair across from Bella.

"Oh, you know," he replies, almost shrugging it off like it was no big deal. "Getting in a few brawls, trashing a few places, losing my virginity, trying some of this and that." He grimaces at this.

Bella can't help but be somewhat bothered by the fact that Jacob had lost his virginity without her knowing—or maybe it was the fact that he hadn't lost his virginity with_ her_—but she doesn't speak this aloud. She instead opts to focus on the problem that brought up lesser concerns in her mind.

"_Jacob_," she chuckles, unbelieving. "Please don't tell me you've got yourself in drugs."

"Nah, I'd never," he says, waving it off. "I mean—oh, _God_—I don't know what people like so much about it, anyway. I _literally_ threw up at the first taste of that shit…" He shudders, and Bella laughs a bit more.

"Well, I guess that's fine," she says. "As long as you aren't addicted or anything." She eyes him carefully.

He shrugs, obviously struggling for an answer. "Well, I didn't know you'd have cared if I _was_… but, hey. That's just what I've seen." He glares at her.

Her happiness fades away abruptly. She doesn't reply, and a tense silence engulfs them both again.

This is what Bella had prepared herself for: the accusations.

Jacob soon joins her in the tiny living room, sitting across from her on an ugly, floral-printed chair. His face is concerned, but for what? Isn't _Bella_ the one that should be concerned in this case?

She clears her throat once he's situated himself, but still doesn't speak. Instead, she decides to bring a bit of light into the room and reaches over to flick on a small lamp sitting on the center of the coffee table.

"Please don't," Jacob suddenly warns before she can touch the switch, causing Bella's arm to shrink back to her side in confusion. "You can see me and I can see you well enough. Lighting is unnecessary."

Although it was unspoken, Bella knows the real reason why Jacob didn't want her to turn on the lamp—or _any_ light, in general. She could understand that Jacob doesn't want to see her the way she was, although he said he could see her anyway (which was a lie). Bella saw _him_ perfectly the way he was, with short hair hardly reaching over his ears, and an unusual shirt covering his chest. The other half of his body is covered by a pair of basketball shorts—and, being much too small for his gigantic form, they barely touch the tops of his knees. They look even shorter when he sits down, but Bella doesn't focus on that.

Instead, she focuses on the pure concern and sadness apparent on Jacob's face; the way his lips turn down slightly at the edges; the way his eyebrows pull together just the slightest bit to show mild agitation. Although his expressions probably suggested he wasn't so upset, Bella knew him better than that, and she can see how much it kills him to show how upset he _really_ is. She always knew how great he was at controlling his emotions. She sees behind his careful mask of calm composure—she sees just much anger and betrayal is boiling inside of him. And she flinches.

"So, why are you _really_ here, Bella?" Jacob finally hisses into the darkness. His voice seethes with chagrin. "Do you not know my limit of how much disappointment I can take? Or are you trying to test that?"

Strange, dry vampire cries threaten to burst from Bella's throat. She holds them in, not willing to look pathetic at the moment.

"I needed some escape," she whispers at last. "I needed somewhere to go."

"Why?" Jacob spits. "Your perfect vampire doesn't _want_ you anymore? I didn't know running away from _him_ was part of the contract."

That was enough to Bella's temper over the edge.

"There's no _contract_ between me and Edward, Jacob," she says quietly, angrily.

"It sure the hell _seems_ like it!" he yells. "And what 'escape' can _I_ give _you_, anyway? _Why are you here_?"

Bella stutters, not knowing how exactly to answer that question. Because that was just it—she doesn't have an answer, just a _feeling_. She has the _feeling_ she should be here, so she listened to that feeling and came. "I just—I don't even know. I couldn't find what I wanted back there, so I came… here."

"And where is _here_?"

"_Here_ is _you_, Jacob!" she yells. "I came to you because I wanted to, alright? Can you not accept the fact that… that maybe I—" But she can't finish. While she prepared herself for the impossible, she hadn't prepared herself for admitting something to Jacob she wouldn't even admit to herself.

"…That maybe you _what_?" Jacob asks, completely unforgiving.

Bella shakes her head back and forth hopelessly, saying nothing.

He calms down at last, seeming to realize that he wouldn't get an answer from her if he was brutal.

Several minutes pass with nothing but silence. Neither of them says anything. Eventually, Bella's body begins to quake, and doesn't realize she's crying until the wretched sounds pass through her mouth.

Jacob realizes she's crying, too, but his response isn't what she expected.

"Just stop," he begs, tears of his own falling down his cheeks and onto his lap. "You're not even really crying, it's all fake, and you can't do it, so just _stop_!"

This, of course, only further upsets Bella, and the shaking of her body further intensifies. She can't find it in herself to stop, although she would do so if she could—for Jacob's sake. It infuriates her, though—the fact that she was a goddamn _vampire_, one of the strongest beings in the entire world, and she couldn't even find the strength to stop doing what she wasn't meant to do in the first place. A crying vampire? Who ever heard of such a thing? The strangeness of such a concept does awful things to Bella's self-confidence.

"_Can't_," Bella gasps, looking up at him with eyes that plead for his understanding. She reaches her arm out as though she could touch him through the space that separated them. Her arm shakes with her body, making her look even more pitiful than she already does. "_Please_, Jacob," she mouths, no sound escaping.

She doesn't know what she's asking for, exactly. What did she expect Jacob to give her by visiting him? What was the escape she'd spoken of, anyway? Maybe an escape from the solitude that continually haunted her. Maybe she asked for comfort, or even _happiness_. And although she wished for all of these things—to no longer be lonely, to find some comfort in her present situation, to be happy despite what she went through—she still didn't know what to expect, or what she asked for.

But suddenly, Jacob is at her side, grasping both of her freezing cold hands in his terrifyingly warm ones. They burn against her skin—a dizzying, satisfying, and almost uncomfortable sensation compared to all the coldness she'd always been used to. She gratefully leans against him.

"_Honey_," he murmurs, shuddering at the difference in temperature between their skin, as she shudders. "Don't do this to me."

"Do what?" she mumbles with hardly a sound to support her.

"I'm not sure," he replies, frustrated. "It's just that, every time you do_ this_"—he gestures to way Bella's body trembles against his—"I always end up feeling guilty. But _why_? Why should _I_ feel any sense of guilt for what you do to yourself, Bella?"

While his words don't soothe her, he still speaks them in a comforting way, as though they're _meant_ to comfort her. His words are quiet and benign, thoughtful and serious… but they serve the opposite purpose.

"Don't feel guilty," she whispers, her sobs slowing dying down. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to, honestly."

He wraps his arms around her, ignoring the way the cold makes him flinch like he'd just been electrocuted.

"I know you don't mean to, Bells." He sighs enormously. Bella savors the way his breathing pattern feels against her body—she craves it. She loves the fact that he's so fantastically _alive_… even when she's _not_. "But I don't know why you keep coming back to me. Tell me what I can _do _for you—if there is anything."

Bella hesitates, but for only a second. "You can make me feel alive again," she finally whispers, knowing that if she _could _blush, she would.

Jacob's body tenses up a bit. "_How_, Bella?" he asks, voice straining. "You seem to know how, but I don't."

"I don't think it's something you ever think about," she mumbles against the fabric of his shirt, thoughtful. "Just you being alive… makes me feel alive. And when you laugh around me, and talk to me, and touch me…" She sighs. "I wish there were some way I could specifically explain it, Jacob, but in truth… that's all I can really come up with: you're alive, so I feel the same… pretty much every time I'm by you. I… I guess that's the real reason I came here. I'm tired of feeling _dead_." Her voice cracks at the last word.

"Bella…" Jacob's voice turns soft. "You know I can't literally change that."

"I know, that's fine," she says, passive. "This is enough—for now."

Jacob groans—sounds like he has something else to say—but he doesn't say anything else, and for this, Bella is grateful. She wanted no more contradictions. To just live a few moments in his presence without complications was enough to last her… well, not a _long_ time, but she was just fine with that. For now.

She turns her head to rest her lips on the underside of his chin, ignoring the way his body tenses and shudders at her touch; ignoring how much it burns her skin—her cold, absolutely _freezing_ skin. She tries not to feel guilty that she might be freezing Jacob to death with her nearness to him.

As they both sit there in silence—ironically, the vampire and the werewolf—Bella glorifies at how Jacob's steady pulse flows under her lips. She can feel it through his skin: the way his blood (his hot, _hot_ blood) flows through his body. She usually wasn't comfortable in admitting such things, like how she could _feel _the way all living things' blood flowed, but right now, she relishes in the fact that she could. She loves the way Jacob's skin feels under hers, after she could get used to it for a while. She loves to hear the beats of his heart, so full and so terribly _alive_ (unlike her); she loves how his blood pumps through his body; but most of all, right now, she loves how she can actually _smell_ it—_taste_ it—in her nose, in her mouth, as though it were actually there. Normally, she'd be freaked out and disgusted at this. But she wasn't, not right now, and she had no authentic reason for that.

"I love you, Jacob," she murmurs sadly after an outstretched silence. "Sometimes I wish I could say otherwise, but it's true."

Then Bella risks lightly kissing the skin at his neck.

Jacob jumps.

Bella smiles to herself, positive that he can feel the way her lips curve against his warm skin.

"Sorry," she murmurs sheepishly, and kisses his neck again.

"_Fuck_," he hisses. "Are you _trying_ to kill me, Bella?"

She frowns at this. "Trying you kill _you_?" she scoffs. "_Please_, Jacob. I've never heard of such a thing."

Being adventurous, she kisses him again and again (pleasuring in the way he shivers under her mouth), and leaves her lips there to breathe in the scent of him. He's delicious, of course, even if the way he tastes is _strange_—something she can't say she's ever really tasted, not before now—and she dares to slowly crane her neck upward, hovering her slightly open mouth over his. She's not breathing—she doesn't want to take the chance—and neither is he.

To her disappointment, Jacob turns his head, realizing where she was going. "No," is the only thing he says, and he looks down, closing his eyes.

Bella frowns, a heavy feeling of denial passing through every nerve in her body. She bites her lip down hard to prevent a cry of frustration. Something tells her she'd have to be at least semi-seductive, which was something she wasn't quite used to, but she realizes she might actually have the advantage this time, being the way she was. (Which she couldn't help but feel guilty about.)

"Jacob," she breathes, letting her voice magically trickle out in the way it was supposed to. Jacob's body gets even stiffer, if possible. "Come back. With me." There's only silence. Jacob doesn't open his eyes. "_Home_," she whispers, merely an inch from his ear. "Let's go back home."

A few seconds pass. "Why?" Jacob finally asks, quietly, so quietly that even _Bella _almost doesn't hear it. "There's nothing for me there."

"Because I need you," she replies. "And _I'm_ there. Does that not count for something?"

"You already _have_ someone," Jacob mutters, venom creeping into his voice.

"You," Bella repeats. "It's_ you_ who I need. So _please_ come back."

Jacob mechanically shakes his head back and forth. The concept of going back to La Push seems to physically pain him, and Bella hates to see that.

"I just can't believe you, Bella," Jacob grumbles, but quickly moves on before Bella has a response to that. "Maybe another time," he says. "Not now."

Bella is desperate. She needs him to come back home, and fishes through all the possibilities in her mind that might make him do so. "What about Billy?" she asks hopefully. "Don't you know how much he's missing you? He's your _father_. He needs you there, too."

But Jacob is unfazed. "He has Sue." His voice rings out with a note of finality.

Bella looks at him disbelievingly. _How could anyone be so pigheaded?_ she thinks, and immediately feels awful for thinking such a thing. Jacob knew what was best for himself, right? Why was Bella so determined to change something? _Because you need him_, her mind whispers. _And you love him_.

Bella groans.

"Well, if you won't come back tonight," she says, "there is still something you could do for me."

Jacob slightly lifts his head in her direction, acknowledging that she should continue.

She takes a deep breath; bites her lip; considers for a moment. "Let me stay here tonight."

At this, Jacob swivels around to fully face her. His face is indescribable—perhaps it was a mixture of excitement, anger, confusion, or fear. Whatever it was, he still looks at her incredulously, like he can't believe what she just said.

"Please," she quietly prompts. "I can make you feel better."

"I highly doubt that," he spits, looking at the ground again.

That was it for Bella. She had to show him that somehow, _somehow_, she could bring him an inch of pleasure. Why would he not give her a chance?

She grabs Jacob by the shoulders from behind (trying to be gentle, but it's hard with superhuman strength) and lifts his moping head from where it'd been directed at the ground. She grabs both sides of his face with her ice-cold hands and glares at him with determination. She then leans her face in directly to meet his—kisses him full on the mouth.

At first, Jacob doesn't do anything; he doesn't kiss her back, respond in anyway, nor does he resist and pull back. He's absolutely frozen, as rigid as a rock. A few seconds pass as Bella kisses his lips—persuasively, hungrily… desperately. She begs with the movements of her lips for some kind of acknowledgement from him.

And then those lone few seconds are over, and Jacob is kissing her back—much more angrily than she was.

His hands grasp the side of her head, pulling her head closer to his. She gasps wildly at his fervor, and allows her tongue to tickle the edge of his full, warm lips. He makes a strange sound in the back of his throat—something that could be described as a groan, but at a much louder scale—and quickly wraps his arms around her body, bending it to the shape of his.

Then it happens so fast that neither of them really try to pay attention what 'it' is, exactly—they just listen to how their limbs move with one another, allow themselves to lay back and let their bodies do all the work. They don't think about it (not at all). It just… happens. All on its own accord. Without the given permission of either one of them. Against their will.

Because the next moment, a kiss turns into much more than just a kiss, and suddenly tongues are running against each other, and suddenly hands are moving over places they shouldn't be, and suddenly clothes are being removed and thrown to the floor, and it's all a strange mixture of temperatures: cold against hot. But neither temperatures completely overrule the other, because it's all so confusing and there's no way to define one from the other, anyhow. So neither of them win, even though darkness isn't a stranger and hurt isn't, either (definitely not). But if there was one emotion that could describe what the atmosphere gave off at the sign of their sensuality, that emotion would be _pleasure_. And it was such a wrong, _wrong_ word to use, given the circumstances. But both Jacob and Bella were better off lying to themselves to erase guilt (because the guilt was definitely there).

So before either one of them knows or has time to stop what's happening, the feeling implants itself and finishes them both.

---

**A/N:** It's not over yet.


	3. Part III

**A/N: Sorry this took so long. Things came up.**

**Return: Part III**

In the morning, Jacob is asleep. Bella isn't. Of course.

For just moments, she lies there quietly and tries to forget everything, everything except for Jacob, because it was impossible not to think about Jacob when he's just so... _there_. The rising movement of his bare chest soothes Bella for just moments after the actual magic, the magic where two people from two different worlds collided. For the better? Probably not. But for Bella's deepest wants? Definitely.

But, as she realizes too soon, there is a time when all good things must come to an end.

She literally feels a physical pain all throughout her body as she detaches herself from Jacob's arms wrapped around her naked form. How could it be so hard to leave someone? Why did it have to be so hard to say goodbye? Hadn't she done it millions of times before now? So how was this time any different?

Was it perhaps that they'd finally, _finally_ removed the one last barrier that separated them in terms of their physical relationship? Did it have anything to do with that—however guilty this made her feel—she actually enjoyed it, no matter the temporary pain she knew it brought Jacob, and would bring him for time to come?

None of these questions make sense in her head right now, and she feels comfortable answering none of them.

She moves quickly and quietly, trying (unsuccessfully) to ignore the glorious feel of his naked body against hers as she removes herself from the shape of him—the shape she so, _so_ perfectly fit into... even if she could have only lived in such harmony for just a few hours.

She flinches from the sound of the bed springs creaking beneath them. She freezes in her tracks and goes completely silent as she hears Jacob take a deep breath, then starts moving again when he releases that breath and goes back to his pleasant snoring.

It's brought to her attention that Jacob's dark skin actually consists of _bruises_—how could she do such a thing to him? How could she hurt him this way? How could it have been avoided? Well,_that_ one was a given.

She would not have been able to see such a subtle detail if she had not been studying him so closely, or she had not the perfect (_more_ than perfect) eyesight she had.

Her mind escapes to a time years ago, when she remembers _herself_ as the one covered in bruises... _herself_being the oneto make love to a vampire. How odd was the world they lived in, when something that caused someone else _so much pain_, could only make them happy if it were happening to them.

Because, for reasons completely unknown to Bella, Jacob _was_ happy. The subtle way his lips turned upward in his sleep obviously suggested that. And because he _was_ happy, Bella had no other choice but to be happy with him. It was the story of her (their) life. Jacob's happy; Bella's happy. Jacob's sad; Bella's sad. They're like a perfectly moving pattern, one thing that is always made up of two separate things; opposites, like the North and South poles. One could not be without the other—it just couldn't happen, was impossible. Like they're two sides of the same coin. Something that could never be separated, lest the whole world were headed for hell.

_It's not fair_, she thinks wearily, as though the adventures of last night had completely drained her entire body of energy. She even dearly wishes she _had_ absolutely no energy; she wishes she had a valid excuse to stay, just to be close to Jacob even if just for a few more moments... But she can only she wish, and nothing more than that. Because, despite all of her best interests to_feel_ Jacob against her once more, she can do nothing about it. She knows it was wrong to come here, but all the same, can't regret that she did. But despite everything, despite the fact Bella believed the world revolved around the moments that they were together, she knows she can do nothing else but go. It will be better for both of them, she figures logically.

_At least for now,_a small (but increasing in size every hour) part of her brain whispers. She hushes this small part quickly before it can dominate the rest of her already irrational thoughts about Jacob.

Her thoughts are nothing but sad, at first. Moments pass as she quickly gathers up her articles of clothing, carefully avoiding Jacob's for whatever reason, slips into them, and looks around for a piece of paper and pen.

Then her thoughts are suddenly angry, so terrifyingly, horrifically angry as she begins to think about her situation, that she can't believe such violent thoughts would ever torture her—someone who was, against all reason and under the circumstances, actually a pretty passive and gentle person. She couldn't dream of hurting someone for the sake of simply hurting them, or even_hating_ them, no matter what they did to her—but at that moment, she feels nothing else _except_ for hate. Violence. Murder.

But towards whom? Definitely not Jacob, that was certain. She could never, ever, _ever_ hate Jacob, not if she lived to be a million years old, not if Jacob denied her and drove her away for all eternity... not even if Jacob hated _her_.

So what was the reason behind her vicious thoughts? _Was_ there a reason, or was this just her emotions acting up again? She searched through her brain; searched through every part of it like it were some kind of filing cabinet, searching for any unconscious thought that may have triggered this nature of violence toward the invisible.

Edward? Not likely.

Herself? Well...

The world? The universe in general? Sure seems like it.

_Everything_? Probable.

Bella sighs, trying to numb the impossible hatred she felt towards nothing—or, _everything_, perhaps, though she could most easily blame herself and know she couldn't go wrong. But this was no time for life epiphanies. She had to get going, and she had to get _going_ now. Preferably before Jacob woke up. Before he could question any of her motives, face-to-face. Before she could see the inevitable hurt on his face when he realized she was leaving, and maybe—but not likely, considering her heart's desires—for good.

Finally finding a writing utensil under the mass of junk that piled on Jacob's rented floor, Bella scribbles out something of a goodbye (or, more appropriately, a _thank you_) note to Jacob on what she realizes upon further inspection is a playboy magazine—she grimaces—and leaves the note clearly visible on top of his miraculously cleared off two-by-two table; a place she knows would be in plain sight from the moment Jacob lifted his head off the pillows.

The note reads:

_Sorry. Sorry for everything.  
Sorry for coming here in the first place; sorry for leaving just as quickly.  
It kills me to say this, but I can almost guarantee you'll see me again.  
I wish it weren't true. I don't like hurting you this way; all the same, I can't resist being with you.  
But in spite of it all, I hope I could make you... happy, for the short time we were together. I know I was happy. Thank you for that.  
And, believe it or not, beneath all the pain and tears, I still love you. I always will._

She doesn't bother signing it.

"Jake," she whispers, her voice breaking as she takes one last wistful look at Jacob's peaceful, calming, and more importantly beautiful sleeping form.

And with that, she turns around and disappears through the door.

_Crash_.

The table hits into the wall with a force so strong, it would have broken _through_ the wall if only the material were denser. It breaks into five parts, the four legs lying nearby to the surface itself.

"Shit," Jacob swears aloud, but not because of the broken table lying before him. No, his rage is the result of something else entirely. "_Shit_."

The room in which Jacob stands is in a complete wreck. Half of the coffee table is stuck through the shattered television set; the other half lie in a cupboard above the sink, the cupboard's door swinging on one hinge, making a soft squeaking noise each time it moved in and out, in and out. A vase lie in shattered pieces on the linoleum floor, its pedestal parallel to it, lying on its side. The small glass ornaments that made up the room on top of the television set could be found who-knows-where in what was now nothing less than a pigsty. Everywhere, there was garbage; papers, most of them belonging to the previous residents of the tenement and others belonging to him, consisting mostly of Jacob's dreams. (Only dreams he wanted so badly to remember; dreams that meant the most to him; dreams he had to scribble down to ensure he would never forget them.)

But Jacob can't see any of this. No, he doesn't even think about any of it at all. There's only one thing, one person, on his mind, and it seems that if he breaks everything in his path, he might actually get that person _out_ of his mind. At least, he liked to think that _that_ was why he was in a rage. Maybe he could pretend that he wasn't upset about a girl, that maybe he was actually drunk and nothing he thought had happened last night, had actually happened. Yeah. That was how it was supposed to work. But given his quiet screams that repeated, "Bella… Bella… _Bella_!", his theory was definitely _not_ working.

He grasps his hair tightly with his fingers, or as much as possible, considering how short it is. He misses his long hair. He liked it better long, too. He only cut it for the sake of the pack. They mattered much more than he did.

He collapses onto the loveseat at his left. He hates the space he takes up—which was, in this case, not _enough_ space.

_She should be sitting right here, right now_, he thinks bitterly, looking at the space just wide enough for another body. For _Bella's_ body. The space where, in actuality (he was _positive_ it had actually happened), she _had_ been sitting. Just last night. The night that seemed not to have happened at all.

"No," Jacob whispers, staring at the floor. "_No_!"

His whisper becomes an earsplitting yell. He grabs the closest object—in this case, the telephone—and, like before, chucks the item at the wall. This time, he can clearly see a dent that his throws made. He wishes the dent were bigger, for some reason. That small, one inch space of white is not enough to satisfy him. But what to do? Break _more_ things? What more was there to break that hadn't already been?

He feels half-mad. He feels like it can't actually be possible for something so horrible to be happening to _him_. He thinks, _Why me? Why me? Why can't I just have a normal love life, without the complications of a fucking_vampire_family? Why_me_?_

He knows there's not actually a valid answer to any of these… impossible questions. Questions he could never go to anyone else to ask for help. There's not one single person in the world that could help him… well, not one single person in the world that could help him _easily_,or probably even _want_ to sacrifice anything for the sake of helping him. He hates feeling sorry for himself, but there are times when something happens to completely blow his cap. This was _definitely_ one of those times.

He can't understand why he hasn't just given up on her already. Or… had it more to do with the fact that Bella would never up on _him_, no matter how much he wanted her to? But… _did_ he even want her to? Was it worth suffering long periods of pain to just experience a fabulous, terrific, but more importantly _momentary_ high every single time Bella came around? Could he handle that much for the rest of his life, and expect nothing else from her?

The answer came much more slowly than it should have.

The answer was no; it did not make sense to beat himself up this way every time he felt like it might help him in the long run, when all the time, it did _not_ help him. It wasn't even worth _sleeping with her_to only feel the pain he was feeling now. It was impossible to erase, and would probably always be that way. And, God, he'd _slept_ with her! Did that not mean anything to her? Had she suddenly turned into some kind of vampire slut, fooling around with all kinds of boys and breaking their hearts?

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this hadn't been at all what he'd pictured their first time to be like. He hadn't expected her to be a vampire; he hadn't wanted her to be, not ever.

He remembers his first, fantasy vision of having sex with Bella. It was when he was only fifteen years old; the very first time he met her on that ever so fateful day on the beach, however long ago it was. It seemed so impossibly long ago, he could hardly comprehend that _this_ was where they were now.

It wasn't even a big deal in his mind now, now that he thought about it. He was fifteen, he was stupid, he was hormonal and somewhat perverted, in the way that most teenage boys are at some time in their lives. As he stared adoringly at Bella's face (remembering that he'd thought she was ridiculously hot) as they just, you know, _hung out_, he couldn't help but be mischievous and imagine that Bella was easy, that somehow he could lure her into his bedroom late at night and then later brag to all his friends that he'd been the first one to do it, and at fifteen, and with a _junior_! Oh, man. Wouldn't that just be _amazing_? No one would ever believe it, all his friends would be jealous and from that moment on he'd be a man, truly, he'd be a man…

But now, as he Jacob stares down at his hands, he forgets everything that happened before he knew Bella, actually _knew_ her, and remembers the day that Bella confirmed she'd be having a honeymoon. With Edward. Edward, the bloodsucking vampire. Edward, who he would fucking hate for all time and eternity. Edward, whom he would never feel guilty about violently decapitating his head from his body if ever the opportunity were to show itself. Yes, _that_ Edward.

It was in that exact moment that Jacob actually saw Bella in his mind, seeing her for what she truly was, seeing her as she prepared to rip his heart out, piece by piece. He recalled that one moment on the beach when he'd thought about doing it with her. But now, oh _now_, he could only think about _making love_ to her. It was such a less vulgar term. It sounded so much more beautiful. And in that moment, it was only beautiful with Bella being a _human_. Not a vampire. _Never_ a vampire.

But when it actually happened, it was like his entire world exploded, all his hopes and dreams and truly everything he'd ever held dear, gone, in that very instant. It was like he just lost a lifetime, realizing that he could never go back, could never turn Bella human again and make love to her then. There was no time machine conveniently placed before his bed when he woke up. Only a note that could make him hate himself more than ever for what he'd allowed to happen. Something he could never let happen again. No… no, never. It wasn't worth it. Not like he thought it might be. Not when he used to think that he actually meant something to Bella in the way that she meant something to him.

_The note_. Where is the note?

Jacob glances wildly around the room, hurling more things in all directions in a desperate attempt to see Bella's handwriting again. Just once. It didn't matter. He'd rip it to shreds after he could just see her writing, just one more time, maybe for the last time…

_Where the hell is the damn note_?

Something interrupts his vain search: knocks on the door. Timid, quiet knocks he wouldn't have been able to hear if it weren't for his abnormally sharp hearing.

Time seems to stand still in that moment. Nothing moves, not even Jacob's heart. Oh, it just all seems too good to be true—could she have actually decided to come back, and so soon? _Really_?

"Bella," Jacob breathes, moving towards the door, dodging all the varying messes along the way.

He swings it open.

Standing before him, an absolutely terrified look on his face, is a short and stocky middle-aged, kind-eyed man.

Something invisible slaps Jacob in the face, making him feel like a fucking fool.

"What the hell," Jacob mutters, looking extremely displeased.

"H-hello," the man stammers, his voice hardly above a whisper. He peers around Jacob slowly and cautiously, seeing the mass of hell that the room now is. He clears his throat once and seems to gather enough courage to speak up. "I'm Dan Stacey, the landlord from the apartment's main office here in Tacoma, you know, from that one department where they figure out any and all troubles with the tenants and their living spaces, and I received several reports from around this area that a certain someone living in this particular—"

"Get on with it," Jacob growls, having half the mind to shut the door in this fool's face.

The man looks startled and it seems as though he's lost his voice again. Surprisingly, though, he skips straight to the punch the next time he speaks.

"Sir, I am afraid you have vandalized and positively—" he looks again at the room behind Jacob "—_destroyed_ this entire apartment's accommodations. It is strictly my job to deal with these kinds of problems and you are entitled to—"

"Leave this place and never come back?" Jacob interrupts again, feeling sour and sarcastic in all senses. "Don't mind if I do."

_Right_, like he _actually_ had time to stay and clean up the mess he'd made, or even pay money for them to clean it up? He didn't even mean to be here in the first place. Staying at the apartment was somewhat of a mistake, some kind of decision he unconsciously made while his conscious mind was elsewhere. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen... but it just... did.

Jacob saw it fair that he shouldn't have to suffer yet again for the things that happened to him in result of a girl. An almost evil, heart-breaking girl. No, he'd never let himself be brought down by Bella ever again. It just wouldn't happen anymore. _Not in a thousand years_, he promises himself.

"N-no, I'm afraid you'll have to either pay for the damage you've done or—"

But Jacob's mind is not in the present conversation. It appears he doesn't even hear Mr. Stacey speak. He is completely deaf to everything except for his own thoughts.

Jacob backs up a little into the small room again, gathering up his scarce belongings. He might've missed a shirt or two—not that it mattered, anyway. He was going back home; he wouldn't need a shirt. Besides, the only thing in that entire room that mattered was his scraps of paper consisting of his dreams, and... Bella's note...

Jacob is in a ridiculous hurry to get out of there. It'd been more than five days he stayed there; that was enough time in an apartment to last him a lifetime.

He quickly evades the man's shadow, ignoring his squeaky, frightened protests as he finds his way down the cement steps.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Stacey," he yells pleasantly over his shoulder, his few belongings held tightly in one hand.

"Now, wait just a minute—"

"That's time I don't have," Jacob mutters under his breath, knowing the man wouldn't be able to hear him and not caring whatsoever.

Because he is running now, finding his way across the weed-filled sidewalk cracks and then into the forest; the forest, the only place he can ever truly call his home.

_It kills me to say this, but I can almost guarantee you'll see me again_.

He remembers those beautiful words, the only words that keep him running northward. Running, running, running...

He never did find Bella's note. Maybe he only dreamt that there was one in the first place.

Sooner or later, Bella knew that she would have to return to the Cullens' house. She couldn't just stay away forever. In spite of knowing what lie ahead, though, she can't erase the fact that she _doesn't_ want to go home. Not yet, at least. It's much too soon. Less than a day away from what seemed to be her prison cell was not enough to satisfy her deepest wants... the wants that ultimately, and no matter what, included some kind of inner peace. The inner peace she knew she could only find if it involved Jacob.

But, the scene she was envisioning the whole ride home comes soon enough: Her car smoothly and slowly pulls into the Cullens' achingly long driveway. Slowly because Bella is stagnant about returning home; bracing herself all the way for what she might face there. Smoothly because her car is way too advanced for its own good, damn it! She misses her old red truck enough to imagine that her Audi, in actuality, sputters into the driveway rather than glides. For just a few moments she can pretend that, instead of sitting on the smooth, comfortable leather seats, she sits on the flattened-by-age seats her old Chevy accommodated. She can pretend, just for a few moments…

And then pretend time is over. Because, now, she's clicking open the garage with her much-too-fancy garage opener, gliding into the garage while she ignores that a certain bronze-haired vampire stands in the doorway on the front of the house, watching her every move through the darkly tinted windows of her sports car.

She lets the car idle for a bit once she has pulled in, but she knows she can't hesitate for too long, lest the torment she was headed for only became worse and more unendurable. Finally, reluctantly, she cuts the engine and slowly opens the door. Edward's right there to meet her. He holds out a hand, as though to assist her in getting out of her own damn car (right, like she doesn't have _legs_ or anything). She simply ignores the hand, and more importantly ignores _him_, as she shuts the door behind her and walks around the car, into the door that leads from the garage to the house.

Edward follows silently behind.

Bella is annoyed. _Extremely_ annoyed. She doesn't know how she never could felt this way before, when Edward followed her around just as he was doing now, but suddenly all of her outlooks on the particularly monotone life she lead here in the Cullens' house come crashing down upon her with a much less appealing impression than how she thought of them all before. Somehow, with Edward following her like a somber puppy, she's not as happy as she used to be… years ago.

Bella prolongs the inevitable discussion with Edward by heading straight for the living room, where she senses Emmett and Jasper are playing on a video game console. She smiles even before she sees them, all the while ignoring her silent, bronze-haired shadow.

Both of her vampire-brother's faces are glowing strangely in the light of the television. They both face away from her, but she can still see how Emmett's lips are curved in the shape of a smug smile while Jasper seems to pout from a different corner of the room, his game controller on the ground before him. Without looking in Bella's direction (as he seems so very entranced by the game), Emmett explodes in a bout of much-needed and welcoming laughter.

"Bella! Good grief, woman, we missed you." Setting down his controller, he jumps up and is at her side and in one second, she's engulfed in his arms, her feet hanging a foot off the ground.

Behind her, she hears Edward hiss. But she doesn't care. She's focusing too much on her happiness right now to care. Instead, she laughs, the delicate, twinkling laugh she can't find in herself to hate right now, pushing against Emmett's shoulders easily as she resituates herself on planet earth. "Missed you, too, Emmett," she says happily, grateful she now has the gift of being an amazing liar.

"Seems like Edward missed you, as well. Actually, a bit too _much_, if you ask me." He laughs again, a booming, cheerful laugh that could brighten even the darkest cave.

Bella rolls her eyes, trying not to let her emotions bring her down just yet. "I'm aware," she murmurs.

But Emmett is nothing but good-natured laughs and smiles. "How's life as Bella's shadow, Edward?" he teases over her shoulder.

Edward, naturally, says nothing. Bella doesn't dare peek over her shoulder to see the expression on his face. That alone could probably bring her whole world crashing down on her.

"Good to see you, Bella," Jasper speaks softly and respectfully from where he still sits. "Not to be rude or anything, but you were only gone hardly more than half a day, so I couldn't exactly find it in myself to miss you too much. Emmett's just an optimist." He flashes a gorgeous smile.

Bella smiles back. "I can assure you I am not in the least bit offended." It was true. She was much too occupied with a certain _someone_ else that she couldn't find it in herself to miss anyone, either… especially if she was gone for just half a day. She knew she only got such a warm welcome from Emmett because she had never even been gone that long before, being cooped up in this house twenty-four-seven, and, like Jasper mentioned, Emmett was an optimist, and one of the biggest there was.

Jasper averts his attention back to the television set. He never really was the best greeter. Bella doesn't mind, not one bit. "Good to hear," he says. "Let's get back to the game now, Emmett. I'm ready to kick your ass this time."

Emmett chuckles once more. "Alright, I'll leave you and Edward to talk or sex it up or whatever you do in your free time…" Bella doesn't allow herself to flinch. Emmett speaks more to Jasper than he does to her as he heads back to his game console. "Meanwhile, _I'll_ be the one handing out an ass-kicking to a certain someone named _Jasper_!"

Their playful banter continues as Bella hesitantly leaves the living room and heads straight outside again, this time through the front door. She hoped Edward saw this as a sign that now was the time to start speaking, as they were quite alone.

"Alright, let's get this over with," she mutters distastefully once the door is shut behind them both. For the first time that day, she faces Edward and gets a good view of the look on his face.

What she sees shocks her out of her aloof attitude long enough to be serious.

Edward's eyes are pitch-black—the darkest she's ever seen them as far as she can ever remember—so dark that they're literally like pools of black ink. She cannot even see the small ring of golden around the edges as she was usually able to whenever Edward was hungry. He never, _ever_ let it get that bad, not even when she remembers his eyes the very first time she ever saw them, when she was still… human. She remembers them as being pretty bad already that day, now that she looks back, but as she looks at his eyes _now_… it doesn't even compare. Not even a teensy bit of white is to be seen. Just _black_, pure_black_.

Even subtracting the effect of his eyes, Edward's face is still maliciously furious. Bella recalls how Edward usually looks when he is especially hungry, and the look he bears now is almost no different at all. He appears to be livid with hunger. And he's obviously beside himself with anger.

"Edward," she gasps as she finally comprehends what she's seeing. "What… what have you been doing with yourself?"

"Not hunting, that's for sure," he whispers much quicker than she expected. "We always go hunting together, remember? Or, at least, I always go hunting with you, in which case I can see how the two things are completely different. Perhaps you forgot; I find that understandable. But now you are here, and, if you hadn't already noticed, I could do with a good hunt." He smiles, but it's all wrong. It's nothing less than an insane, crazed smile, like he's some kind of mad scientist that's about to delve into something rather mad.

It's all very unappealing. And in that instant, Bella knows that the last thing she wants to do at the moment is to go hunting with him. She can't even find a reason for that particular feeling, but it's there alright, and she listens to it immediately.

"I don't think I want to go hunting right now, actually," Bella says right away, again using her lying skills to get past it all. "I stopped on the way from driving back from Tacoma to hunt." She smiles innocently, knowing that even Edward wouldn't be able to catch her in her lies. "But you are right: You _do_ need a good hunt. By all means, please, go hunt without me. I shouldn't be the reason for you starving yourself."

"You shouldn't, but you are," Edward says again, his half-mad smile still not off his face.

Bella can feel _her_ smile, on the other hand, flicker just a bit at his words. She collects herself immediately, not letting her state of shock at Edward show.

"Don't mind me," she speaks politely, somehow worried that if she goes back to her usual habits of sarcasm and complaining, that Edward won't listen to her as easily. "Honestly, I am not in the least bit hungry. Go and hunt, Edward," she adds, her voice sincerely seething with concern. "I know that you need it."

Edward's crazy smile is gone almost before Bella realizes that it is. She has absolutely no idea exactly what's going on, but she feels as though it will be alright as soon as Edward's eyes are back to their usual golden state.

"Of course," he murmurs, his eyes suddenly immensely focused on Bella's face. "I need to hunt, don't I? No matter if you don't want to come with me or not…"

Bella stares. "Yes, I do believe that is what I said."

Edward blinks slowly. He turns his head quickly towards the trees that surround the house, then down the pathway that leads to the town of Forks. He seems to be trying to decide something excruciatingly difficult.

"I guess I'll be going, then," Edward whispers at last, finally running towards the trees in the way that Bella intended him to. He disappears in less than two seconds, leaving Bella staring after him, feeling thoroughly freaked out and confused.


End file.
